Themes of the Business
by Dixon Oriole
Summary: Post Suikoden III. Vignette. Watari and Ayame have a very special relationship. Too bad it has to end with one of them destroying the other, however accidentally.


_Disclaimer:_ I take no credit whatsoever for any element of this piece pertaining to Suikoden: including characters, setting, etc, etc… It belongs, and rightfully so, to Konami.

Themes of the Business

By: Dixon Oriole

The hole was deep, and his solemn gray stare probed its shadows fruitlessly from above. What an idiot she had been to try that jump – he'd made it only because the ledge was then unbroken. What an idiot she had been to come after him, even when he'd gone in this cavern, even when he'd planned for her to follow when it was so obviously engineered for her to… for her to misstep and fall and go tumbling down that hole. It was a blatant trap! What an idiot she'd been. He hadn't expected her to be.

He'd expected something shrewd and genius, even miraculous from his dogged pursuer. She would pull off some fantastic leap, or in the event she did stumble, would catch herself by driving a set of razor sharp knives into the rock wall, and more likely still, she would never have come in. She'd have seen it a mile away and gone around to head him off before this even became an issue. She could have beaten him to the outside and ambushed him and he could be dead, and he could be dead, not her. She could have so easily saved herself.

This was not how he'd expected to win. It was weariness and irritation that prompted such senseless pitfalls to be created, but he'd never counted on any of them actually working – had he even _wanted_ them to? It seemed cheap. The way the boulder had shifted under his weight, spring boarding him across the gap and into a safe roll on the opposite side, the way it had shifted so that it would not hold her when she ventured the same. The way it had screeched and given way, her surprised intake of breath, something like metal clashing against jagged stone, a thud, and then nothing… And then him standing at the edge and looking back, in a daze. It all seemed so _cheap_, a great cosmic joke.

And why shouldn't it have worked? Never had before, so perhaps she was feeling invincible, all it took was a tiny mistake after all – she was capable of mistakes. They didn't happen. But she was a human, so capable of mistakes, right? Something in her had to be. Had _he_ begun to think her invincible? One thing was certain, duly noted when gazing into the abyss: such a stupid trick should not have been successful. And yet, it had.

It would have been trouble in the past, and so it was not in his nature to relax without proof, so carefully, slowly down the unstable wall he climbed. The jagged rock cut into his grip as he slipped ever deeper into the well, zoning in and out of alertness as he turned over these new possibilities in his head. So what if she was dead, what then? Could he finally go and be a free person, apart from guilt and old habits that never died and a million sensibilities that he had spent most of his life believing in, besides the moment when they mattered? But all such excited drabble was undermined by vast shock, because – she was dead? Could he actually_ be rid of her_?

Free?

Suddenly the bottom met his sandaled feet and the muscular young man lowered himself to a crouch, warily feeling around his immediate surroundings for those hazards one has to expect in caves. He found only the parched bones of an unlucky monster, long since dead. Glancing up once more at the somewhat lighter mouth of the long drop, as if to assure it was still there, he closed his useless eyes and opted instead to listen. To the left and ahead, something ragged came to his attention.

He crawled towards the sound, one hand sweeping the dusty, fragmented floor. The deft fingers bumped against a warm mass and hovered there a moment, deciding by touch if this was what – who he sought, though there was little chance it could be anyone else.

"You fool," a familiar female voice rasped in painful greeting, and he withdrew his hand, its job of identification interrupted and done.

Shuffling forewords on his knees, the male leaned over what he suspected was her face. "I could say the same," he muttered angrily. What was she doing, falling for something so ridiculous? Child's play! This was not how she was meant to die. He touched her head and met thick, hot liquid, already well aware of the strong, warm stench of blood hanging, a tangible cloud within the chasm.

His scorn was nothing compared to the amount she felt for herself at that moment. It was so demoralizing, the way this had to happen – if ever, it was going to be by an enemy's weapon or her own. Not because she'd taken an unfortunate dive. She _didn't fall_. Never, never before. Never again! But "again" implied there would be a tomorrow, and she felt with some sad panic that it wasn't likely. Not for her anyway.

She couldn't feel her limbs. Her brain was a block of ice, thought turned sluggish. Her thought was never sluggish. From the moment she'd realized that the rock beneath her wasn't holding, to gravity clawing in such a perfect way that she couldn't reach any wall and slow down, the woman had been thinking like her regular old self. It was the impact, and the curious noise her head had made that hampered all of that.

She didn't much like the change.

"Y-You've got to kill me," the female desperately stuttered, eager to demand as much while she still had the ability to speak.

"I think I already have," her counterpart whispered, leaning so unsteadily close now that his dual toned bangs brushed her bloody forehead. He pulled the mask tied around his nose and mouth away, finding it abruptly hard to breathe through.

"Not what I mean…" the girl sprawled next to and beneath him predictably countered, eyes, like his, squeezed shut. She didn't feel any pain – though apparently her brain was registering it and modified her dry tone into a fearful squeak accordingly. She could have died from shame alone. But he just had to understand, he had to! If he killed her properly it could all seem fair, but this… this was no way to go. This was no way for a Kage, however much a failure they were, to go.

She thought she could sense his nod. It had been so long, the woman knew all of his mannerisms – and though her intent had always been to murder this imbecile for his poor decision making, they had become familiar to one another. They were constants in one another's lives, and something like purposes. She was to destroy him, he was to escape her. It was the way it had been for years. Sometimes they'd fight, but circumstances tended to get in the way of any satisfying end and… neither had really fought to put the ordeal to rest.

They'd always secretly intended to die at the same moment, each other's weapons having inflicted mortal blows.

"Hurry up," the woman snarled after such a long pause, loathing how her pulse was becoming loud and slow and steady enough to fill the entire chamber and create something of an echo. He had to do it, for presently it would be too late to save her pride.

She didn't want to be killed by a traitorous wretch. But as long as it was him, whom she knew most intimately by the way he fought, it seemed grudgingly acceptable. He had to do it! It was getting hard to string a thought.

"Goodbye, Ayame," the man breathed, having been too caught up in the absurdity of the situation to act until that moment. He produced a knife between two fingers and searched earnestly for the location of an artery that once severed would result in immediate death – it seemed that the circumstances had sapped all of his inherent knowledge of how to kill.

But finally, he had the location he needed, and swallowed a rising of bile in the back of his throat. He too could sense her nod, and could almost hear her resigned, serious farewell: "Bye, Watari."

And in the knife cleanly slid, and out like a light her fading consciousness went.

Free.

He sat against the nearest wall, one knee drawn up, the other leg stretched straight before him, head tilted back to regard the exit above. Her rapidly cooling body lay unmoved nearby. "So what now, Ayame?" the former Kage ninja asked his deceased hunter, receiving no answer for such strained efforts. Watari had always been a man of few words, but Ayame knew that well enough. She'd never cared.

The hole, so deep and stupid, seemed darker than ever.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_ It had to happen _sometime_.

In my opinion, Ayame and Watari have a Clive and Elza relationship going on… pretty much to the letter, besides the whole past friendship thing. However unclear it is what their relationship _was _before this mess.

I like Watari and find his situation sad – Ayame, for one thing, seems like a fixture in his life, regardless of malicious objectives. How will he sleep at night without the threatening shadow looming over his bed? What on earth does one do with freedom once they've become used to captivity?


End file.
